In Another Lifetime, Perhaps
by lovetheblazer
Summary: Blaine adopts a four year old black lab from a Lima shelter that doesn't answer to the name the previous owner supposedly gave it and gets a lot more than he'd bargained on in the process. Kurt/Blaine alternative meeting AU


After his third sleepless night in a row, Blaine comes to the conclusion that his house is just too big for one person. Rationally, he's aware that it's a good problem to have. Most college students are relegated to minuscule dorm rooms, crammed full of books, foam egg crates atop paper-thin mattresses, cheap laundry hampers overflowing with unwashed clothes, and noisy roommates that steal your peanut butter without asking. Instead, he gets to sleep in his spacious childhood bedroom on an expensive memory foam mattress in his king sized bed. He has a full-sized fridge and freezer that the housekeeper stocks with his favorite meals and snacks every week. He has the run of seven bedroom, five bath house all to himself, except for the rare weekend when his father's not working or his mother isn't off trying to find her bliss (which usually takes the form of five star luxury hotels, spas, or exotic beaches). No, Blaine is lucky and he knows it. He's just also really damn lonely.

That's how he finds himself at a pet rescue shelter on a chilly October morning, asking to see the dogs that are currently up for adoption. There are plenty that look lovable and cheerful, wagging their tails and just _asking_ to be taken home, but for some reason, Blaine's gaze is automatically drawn to a black labrador retriever lying on a red plaid dog bed on the floor of his crate.

A quick peek at the sign on his cage door lets Blaine know that his name is Reggie, he's four years old, and newly up for adoption. Blaine senses that there's a story there, because usually a four year old dog would have been adopted out years ago. He squats down in front of the crate for a closer look. The soulful chocolate brown eyes that gaze back at him seem to contain a multitude of sadness, only strengthening Blaine's assumption that Reggie has been abandoned. It's a feeling with which Blaine is all too familiar.

"Oh, are you interested in meeting Reggie?" a middle-aged woman who volunteers at the shelter asks Blaine. "I assume you saw his ad on the news?"

"No, I didn't," Blaine replies. "I don't really watch the local news very often."

"Ah, I see. Well, once a month we do a pet adoption spotlight and try to introduce the public to some of the animals in need of a forever home. Reggie is such a sweetheart, but unfortunately most of the people who come in here are looking for puppies. We always have a harder time adopting out older or larger dogs, which puts Reggie at a double disadvantage since he's both," she explains.

Blaine feels a pang of sadness for this animal who has been deemed undesirable despite doing nothing wrong. "Well, I'd love to meet him," he tells the volunteer.

"Wonderful!" she says. "He can be shy at first, but hopefully he'll warm up to you. He really likes treats so I've got some you can give to him. That should help the two of you to bond."

Blaine waits patiently while she pulls a keyring out of her pocket and unlocks the crate. Reggie tilts his head to the side as the door to his cage is opened, sniffing the air curiously before he slowly stands and stretches.

"Hey Reggie, want to come say hi to a new friend?" the woman coos to the dog. "I'm sorry, I don't think I got your name before?" she adds, turning to Blaine.

"I'm Blaine," he answers, extending his hand to shake.

"Blaine, I'm Deborah. Nice to meet you... officially."

"You too."

"And Blaine, this is Reggie," she adds before coaxing the tentative animal out of his crate with a treat. Once he's out, she passes the faux bacon doggie treat to Blaine so he can feed it to Reggie.

"Hey buddy," Blaine murmurs, holding out his hand palm up so Reggie can sniff him before he extends his other hand and gives Reggie the treat.

While Reggie is chomping on the treat, Blaine carefully pets his head, smiling when Reggie takes another step towards him and sprawls out on the ground. After a minute or two of petting, he rolls onto his side with his belly to Blaine. Deborah beams down at the two of them. "Oh, he must _really_ like you. He hasn't let anyone else rub his belly yet."

"Do you want to be my friend, Reggie?" Blaine wonders aloud as he scratches the dog's belly.

Deborah squats down beside Blaine. "We had quite a few phone calls about Reggie after we ran the ad during the news on Wednesday, but honestly, none of them seemed like the right fit. They weren't lab people, you know? But I can tell that you are and that Reggie feels safe with you."

Blaine has absolutely no idea what she means by "lab people." The truth is that he's never owned a pet before and he kind of feels like a fraud. Still, he feels a strange kinship with this dog who was likely abandoned by the only family he ever knew. He tells himself that if Reggie and Deborah both think he's up to task (and it seems like they do), who is he to tell them any differently?

"He's really sweet," Blaine replies noncommittally.

"Oh, he's the sweetest," Deborah gushes. "Do you want to take him home today?"

"I..." Blaine trails off. He hadn't expected to come to a decision so quickly, thinking he'd at least visit with several different dogs before committing to adopt. He also thought the shelter would have some sort of waiting period before he could bring home an animal. However, he can't deny that the thought of going home to an empty house fills him with a vague melancholy. He wants someone to talk to, even if it's only a dog. "Sure," he says at last with a resolute nod.

"Wonderful," Deborah practically cheers, clapping her hands together with glee. On the floor, Reggie startles slightly at the sound, his ears perking up as he looks around.

"Hey, shh, it's okay," Blaine soothes, petting the top of his head.

"Why don't you hang out and get to know Reggie a little better while I draw up the paperwork and gather up his stuff," she suggests.

"Sounds like a plan," Blaine agrees.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Blaine is carefully leading his new dog on a leash out the front door of the shelter. He's already helped load all of Reggie's earthly possessions (and surprisingly, there are a lot of them, presumably left behind by the previous owner, along with Reggie himself) into the trunk of his car. "We're going to go for a little ride, okay buddy?" Blaine tells him. "Do you like the car?"

Reggie is too engrossed in sniffing a patch of weeds outside to muster much of a reply. His ears perk up at the sound of Blaine pressing the automatic unlock button on his car key fob.

"Yeah, that's right," Blaine continues. "You know that sound, huh? Did your old owner take you for lots of drives?" He feels silly that he's been a pet owner for all of a few minutes and he's already turning into one of those crazy people who talks to their animals like they are human beings. Still, he can't deny that he already feels a little less alone in the world due to Reggie's presence. Who knows, maybe if he's really lucky he'll even meet a cute boy at the dog park. If romantic comedies have taught him anything, it's that dogs are a good facilitator for finding the love of your life.

He's expecting that it'll take some coaxing to get Reggie into the car, but to his surprise, the dog hops into the car the second he opens the door. Reggie circles the passenger seat a few times before he settles himself down, resting his face on his front paws. Blaine gently shuts the door behind him, not wanting to startle Reggie given how strongly he reacted to loud noise earlier when Deborah started clapping. Then, he walks around to the other side of the vehicle and quickly gets in the driver's seat. He looks over at Reggie, grateful that he seems happy enough to be leaving the shelter behind. He quickly unhooks the leash from Reggie's collar, worried he might wind up strangling himself on the leash lead if there isn't someone holding onto the other end of it.

"Okay Reggie, ready to go see your new home?" Blaine asks him. Reggie doesn't so much as give him a second glance. Blaine tries not to take it personally; he's sure that Reggie just needs some time to adjust to a new environment and owner. Blaine also needs to learn to adjust to being a pet owner for the first time, so hopefully, the two of them can learn together.

* * *

A week later, Blaine's not feeling nearly as optimistic about his fitness as a pet owner. Even if he has it in him to make a good home for a dog one day, he's starting to doubt that Reggie is that dog. He feels like they are _both_ miserable in their new arrangement. Blaine's desperate to fix it, but it's hard when he has no clue what he's doing _wrong_.

Something's definitely wrong, though, because Reggie obviously resents his presence. Blaine calls his name hundreds of time, but it's as if Reggie doesn't hear him. He barely responds and even when he finally does (usually after four or five attempts), it's only grudgingly. Blaine wasn't aware that dogs could sigh and roll their eyes before he adopted one, but he swears he isn't just imagining Reggie doing both to him.

In desperation, he called the shelter after a few days, wanting some advice from those with more expertise. Most of what they recommended Blaine was already doing, much to his chagrin: lots of walks, extra treats, petting, and getting down on Reggie's level to play with him. He'd done it all. Reggie would barely go down the block on his leash before he'd stop and sit down, refusing to go any further, and only the extra treats Blaine kept in his pocket would coax him back to the house. After their breakthrough that first day at the shelter, Reggie didn't seem very interested in affection. Sometimes he'd even turn his head away just to prevent being petted, studiously ignoring Blaine when he called his name to try to get him to turn back. As for playing together, well, Blaine had pretty much bought out the pet toy section of Petco, but Reggie never showed more than a brief, half-hearted interest in any of them.

Blaine hated feeling like he was failing Reggie. Maybe he'd been selfish and naïve to think that an animal would make him feel better about himself, but seven days into pet ownership, Blaine feels worse than ever. The shelter paperwork he'd signed emphasized that there was a two-week trial period after a new adoption. As Deborah had explained, animals take time to adjust to a new environment; usually if owners stick it out for the full fourteen days, most of the problems work themselves out in time. Blaine's not so sure that anything is going to happen in the next seven days to fix their issues. It seems next to impossible to fix a problem when you have no clue what you are doing wrong.

Blaine feels guilty for even considering it, but he's starting to wonder if giving Reggie back to the shelter would be best for all involved. It's not really in his nature to throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble, but it's different when he's dealing with the needs of another living creature. Reggie seems truly miserable living with him. Wouldn't it be cruel to selfishly insist on keeping him if there's another owner out there that might be able to do what Blaine can't and make this poor dog happy? Reggie even seemed happier at the rescue shelter crammed into a small pet crate than he is here in Blaine's sprawling home (not technically a mansion, but pretty damn close). The only thing that makes Blaine hesitate is knowing that Reggie has already been abandoned by at least one owner. He understands why his dog might have trust issues, and he wants to believe that perhaps there's a solution other than giving up.

In need of answers after a particularly frustrating afternoon, Blaine calls up one of his high school friends for some advice. Thad is in the middle of his sophomore year majoring in Biology at NYU with plans to go to veterinary school once he graduates. Blaine figures if anyone might have the key to understanding Reggie's behavior, it'd be him.

Thad doesn't have any huge revelations or magic tricks to earn Reggie's love and respect overnight, but something he says still resonates with Blaine. He explains that scent is one of the most important senses for dogs and asks if Blaine has any of Reggie's things from the shelter that might smell like home to him. Blaine could kick himself for not remembering sooner; aside from the dog bed he carried in that first night, all of Reggie's other possessions are still in a box in his trunk, out of sight and definitely out of mind.

Blaine leaves Reggie curled up on the far side of the couch and jogs out to the garage. He pops the trunk, retrieving a large cardboard box. He carries back inside and drops it to the floor in front of the him as he sits back down on the couch. He's not expecting there to be much, but to his great surprise, the box is practically overflowing. There's an assortment of well-loved dog toys, two clear plastic cylindrical containers filled with tennis balls, a spare leash and collar in navy blue, and finally a cozy-looking fleece blanket in a camouflage print. Blaine takes the things out of the box one by one, setting them on the floor as he does. One of the containers tips over and a green tennis ball rolls across the floor. Reggie's ears perk up at the sound and he eagerly hops off the couch and retrieves the ball with his mouth. Blaine's ecstatic at the response, since it's more interest than Reggie has shown in any of the seemingly endless toys he bought from the pet store.

"You like tennis balls, huh? Bring it to me, Reggie," Blaine coos, hoping that maybe they can bond over a game of fetch.

If Reggie has heard him, he's doing a remarkable job of acting otherwise. Blaine sighs, but decides to try one last time. "Reggie c'mon, here boy. Bring it here," he calls in a louder voice, trying to sound authoritative in his commands (just like the pet owner manual he'd purchased recommends).

Reggie gives him a brief glance and Blaine swears he can _feel_ the disdain in his dog's gaze. Then, Reggie saunters back over to his side of the couch and jumps up, keeping his back to Blaine while he gnaws on the tennis ball. _Message received._

Blaine tries not to let this latest rejection get to him. Instead, he pulls the blanket out of the box. He can see Reggie's shedding fur clinging to the fleece. That's a positive thing, because it means that the blanket hasn't been washed. Hopefully it's retained enough of the scent from home to be a comfort to Reggie.

Blaine unfurls the blanket over the arm of the couch. As he shakes it out, a sealed white envelope falls to the ground. Frowning, Blaine leans over and picks it up. He turns it on over in his hands. On the front, it's been addressed to "Reggie's New Owner" in messy script. He slides his finger underneath the flap on the back of the envelope and carefully opens it. Blaine pulls out two folded pieces of notebook paper and begins to read.

 _Dear Whoever Adopts My Dog,_

 _First of all, I'm grateful you decided to take a chance on an older dog. I'd love to tell you that I'm happy that you've adopted him, but honestly, that would be a lie. I told the shelter that only Reggie's owner could open this letter so they have no idea what I've written here. If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my very last car ride with Reggie after dropping him off at the shelter. He goes on car rides with me just about every day. He LOVES being in the car, especially with the windows rolled down, but I think what he enjoys more than that is being included in my daily life. Today was different though. I think he knew something was wrong. He watched me pack up all his toys and his favorite blanket and dog bed, but it's more than that. He's seen me do that before when we were packing for trips. Maybe he just sensed that I wasn't looking forward to it this time (and he was definitely right about that). Still, he deserves to be happy again, so I've got to try to make this right._

 _So... let me tell you a little about my dog in hopes that it'll help you bond with him. He loves tennis balls more than anything else in the world. I've put six in his box of stuff, but he has a tendency to hoard them (I think he's part squirrel), so you'll probably have to buy more before long. His lifelong goal is to fit three in his mouth at once. So far, I've only seen him manage to get two in there, but he's persistent so I bet he'll get there one day. He'll play fetch for hours if you let him. Just be careful about where you throw them. Tennis balls can bounce a lot farther than you'd think. Once, I made the mistake of throwing one for him too close to the road and almost lost him for good. I swear this dog has absolutely no fear; it's both a blessing and a curse._

 _He's pretty smart too. I've taught him a bunch of the basic commands: sit, stay, come, and heel. He's learned a few hand signals too. My favorite is holding up your hand like a paw. If you do that, he'll give you a high five. It's a good party trick if nothing else. I also started patting the ground as a signal for lie down a few weeks ago. Not sure if he'll still remember it by the time you get him, but I bet if you worked on it with him a little more, he'd get it. He's a pretty good student if you use food rewards. He'd do just about anything for little pieces of hot dog. He also recognizes the words for ball, food, bone, and treat. That means you shouldn't say the word ball unless you're ready and willing to play fetch for an hour._

 _Hopefully the shelter gave you the info about his feeding schedule (twice a day at 7:00 AM and 6:30 PM). He prefers wet food over dry – the shelter has the brands and amount he typically eats. He's up to date on his shots and if you call the vet clinic on Jackson Avenue, they can update his file with your contact info so that they can send you his vaccination boosters and heart worm medicine reminders._

 _Lastly and most crucially, please, please be patient with him. I've lived alone since the day I adopted him, so I'm really all that he's ever known. I adopted him when he was a ten week old puppy and we've been together ever since. I took him everywhere with me. Like I said, he loves to be included and he stays really well in the car, so please take him along for your daily activities and errands. He likes people. He never barks or growls at them and he's very patient and gentle with kids. He and I were two peas in a pod. I even let him sleep at the foot of my bed at night. That's why this will be such a hard transition for him. Believe me when I say that I wouldn't be giving him away if I had another option._

 _I have one final confession to make. His name's not Reggie. I don't know what possessed me to lie about it, but when the shelter asked me for his name, I sort of panicked. It just felt so final, like if they knew his real name, I would have to admit to them and myself that there was a good chance that I wouldn't be coming back for him one day. I just couldn't do it, and I knew he was a smart dog who'd learn to recognize Reggie as his name in time. It's a loyalty thing, I guess. The thought of him bonding with anyone more than me is almost too painful to bear._

 _Besides, I had a plan. The shelter was supposed to take care of him until they received a call. I figured the odds were good that I'd be coming back for him one day, so what did it matter if the shelter staff called him by the wrong name? I made them swear that they could only put him up for adoption if and when they got the call. Otherwise, I'd come back for him and tear up this letter, no harm, no foul. I'd get to be reunited with my best friend and no one would ever be the wiser._

 _But you are reading this letter, which means that I'm not coming home. And my sweet boy deserves the best. I want him to be happy in your home. I want him to grow to love you the way he used to love me. Maybe you're struggling to bond with him, maybe he's struggling to adjust to a new place and a new owner. Who knows. But either way, you deserve to know his real name._

 _His name is Tank, because that's what I drive. If you're reading this and from the area, you might have heard my name on the news. I told the shelter that "Reggie" couldn't be adopted out until they got a phone call from my commander. It breaks my heart that I don't have any family that can care for him in my absence. My dad died when I was young and my mom is deathly allergic to dogs, so she can't take care of him. The only person I presumably could have asked was my stepbrother, but he lives in New York in a tiny apartment that doesn't allow pets. Even if he could sneak one in against the rules, my dog is used to big backyards with lots of space to roam free. It wouldn't be fair to Tank. So in addition to notifying my family in case the worst happens, my only real request of the Army before my deployment to Iraq was that they call the shelter and let them know that they should put my dog up for adoption. My colonel is a dog guy too, so he said he'd see to it personally. And now you're reading this letter, so it seems like he made good on his word._

 _Well, this letter has taken a sharp turn for the depressing. Sorry about that and sorry if the ink is sort of smudged. I told myself I wasn't going to cry. I thought I was all cried out after telling Tank goodbye one last time. But Tank's been like family for the past four years. I can only hope that you'll make him a permanent part of your family too. He deserves that and if you let him in, he'll be the most loyal creature you've ever known. He's taught me so much about unconditional love – how to be a good friend, son, and brother. In a weird way, he was the inspiration behind me joining the Army so that I could serve and protect others. I hate that I had to leave him behind in order to do it, but if I manage to save even one life overseas, it'll have all been worth it._

 _Okay, I think I've said all that needed saying. Good luck with Tank. Please give him a good home and lots of extra affection from me. Take him on long walks and car rides, feed him extra hot dogs, let him sleep at the foot of your bed on cold winter nights, and throw tennis balls for him to fetch. Who knows, maybe he'll even manage to get that third tennis ball in his mouth one day._

 _Thank you,_

 _Finn Hudson_

Blaine wipes a few fallen tears from his cheeks as he carefully folds the letter and places it back in the envelope. Of course he's heard the name Finn Hudson before. They'd done a whole series of articles about him in the local newspaper. He'd been the first local kid from Lima, Ohio to be killed in active duty in Iraq. He'd been posthumously awarded a Silver Star for bravery after he gave his life to save three soldiers in his platoon. They'd even flown the flags at half mast at the Ohio State Capitol in his honor.

Blaine's heart is thudding dully in his chest as he looks over at his dog. Suddenly, all his behavior makes so much more sense. No wonder the dog had been so bewildered and resentful from the start. Blaine hadn't even been calling him by the right name.

"Hey Tank," he says softly, voice thick with unshed tears.

Tank's whole body jolts in shock. He immediately swivels to face Blaine, eyes searching and ears perked up.

"It's okay, Tank," Blaine promises. The dog's tail starts wagging at the sound of his name for a second time.

"Tank," Blaine repeats reverently once again. The tail wagging only intensifies and he raises his head from where it has been resting on his paws. Tank tilts his head to one side, peering at Blaine curiously with bright eyes.

"C'mere boy," Blaine beckons, patting the couch next to him.

Tank bounds over immediately, obediently sitting down beside him.

"Good job, Tank," Blaine praises, scratching the top of his head and behind his ears. The dog wags his tail steadily and lowers his head to Blaine's lap. It feels like a breakthrough, one Blaine wouldn't have thought possible an hour ago.

"Good boy. Aren't you a good boy, Tank?" Blaine babbles. Every time he repeats the name, he sees Tank surrender a little more, all of the previous frustration, anger, and resentment just bleeding out of him.

"It's just you and me now. I'm sorry your buddy Finn can't be here. I know you probably miss him a lot, huh Tank? But everything's going to be okay. You're going to adjust to your new home eventually," he promises. "And look, I even have some of your favorite things, Tank," he adds, gesturing to the pile of possessions at their feet. Blaine reaches over and grabs the camouflage blanket. He spreads it out carefully in his lap. Tank leans down and sniffs it with interest, tail wagging happily. He nuzzles it against his nose as his body relaxes fully for the first time since Blaine brought him home.

* * *

Three weeks later, Blaine and Tank are the best of friends. It appears that calling him by the right name, the name he spent months longing to hear, was the missing puzzle piece required for Tank to finally trust him. They spend hours together each day, going for long walks, playing fetch in the backyard, and exploring the outskirts of towns on long, scenic drives. Blaine finds his loneliness abating little by little and it seems like his presence has been equally healing for Tank.

They are curled up on the couch together watching television when Blaine's phone rings. Tank eyes the source of the sound with interest.

"It's just the phone, buddy. Who's calling me, do you think?" Blaine asks him.

He grabs the phone off the coffee table and frowns when his caller ID shows a number he doesn't recognize with a local area code.

He hits accept on the call. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Blaine Anderson?" someone says into the phone. Blaine can't tell if the voice in question is male or female right away.

"Yes, this is Blaine. And who am I speaking with?"

"My name's Kurt Hummel," he replies. "You don't know me, but I'm pretty sure you adopted my stepbrother's dog, Tank?"

Blaine inhales a sharp breath, looking at his dog sitting on the floor, nudging a tennis ball towards his feet with a pointed gaze. Blaine can almost see the speech bubble over the animal's head, _Hey asshole, we were supposed to be playing here._

"I... yeah," is all Blaine manages in reply. His heart clenches painfully, both in regret for the loss that the person on the other end of the phone has suffered but also in fear that Tank might be taken away from him. It's only been a month, but Blaine honestly can't imagine his life without Tank now.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to steal him away from you," Kurt murmurs, sniffling.

"Oh no, I wasn't thinking that," Blaine lies. "Look, I'm really sorry about your brother."

"Aren't we all," Kurt sighs. "Sorry, I'm probably making this situation even more awkward. It's just... well, Tank is one of the only living reminders I've got of Finn. I didn't know that he'd worked out an arrangement with the shelter. When I called there and found out that he'd already been adopted out to a stranger, I was really upset. I'd planned on trying to rent a place that allowed pets so I could keep him, but... guess I was too late."

Blaine's at a loss for words. He wonders again if the right thing to do would be to give him back to this person who's already lost so much. At the same time, he knows that Tank's happy in his home. They've bonded and established a routine, so uprooting him again hardly seems fair either. "I'm sure that was really hard to hear, especially since you weren't expecting it," he says sympathetically.

"Yeah," Kurt chokes out. "Do you live in the area, Blaine? Like I said, I'm not trying to steal him away from you, but I'd really like to see Tank at least one more time. I've got some stuff Finn left behind for him in his will, too."

"I live in Westerville," Blaine replies. "And of course, you're always welcome to come by and visit him. When were you thinking?"

It takes Kurt a long moment to answer. Blaine hears a rustling and then the sound of him blowing his nose. Finally, Kurt says, "How's right now? It'll probably take me an hour or two to get there, depending on traffic."

Blaine doesn't have any plans for the rest of the afternoon that can't be rescheduled, so he agrees. "Sure, today's fine. Want me to text you my address?"

Kurt makes a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Dude, you are way too trusting. What if I was a serial killer?"

" _Are_ you a serial killer?" Blaine shoots back.

"No," he giggles. "But that's not the point. I _could_ be. You don't know anything about me. For all you know, I might be lying about everything."

"You'd have to be a pretty good actor to fake cry that well. And besides, I'm not scared because I know Tank will protect me from all the murderers."

"Touché," Kurt chuckles. "Okay yeah, text me your address. That'd be great."

"Okay," Blaine agrees. "I'll see you in an hour or two?"

"Sounds like a plan. And hey, thanks again."

"Anytime," Blaine says and then hangs up on the phone. The second he does, Tank is hopping on the couch and dropping two slobbery tennis balls in his lap. "Thanks for that, Tank. One last round of fetch and then I've got to pick up the house a little before our company arrives, okay?"

* * *

An hour and a half later, Blaine hears the doorbell chime. He quickly clips the leash to Tank's collar and leads him towards the front door. He hasn't really had much opportunity to observe how Tank responds to visitors, and the last thing he wants is for Kurt to get tackled or for Tank to try to make a run for it when he opens the door.

"C'mon Tank, let's go say hi," he prompts as he walks to the foyer. Through the frosted glass of the front door, he can see that Kurt is tall and lean with endless legs. Suddenly, he's reminded what great facilitators of romance pets can be, at least in the movies. He shakes his head slightly to clear the thought. Given what Kurt's dealing with, he's sure that a love connection will be the last thing on his mind.

He wraps the leash around his hand several times to pull it taut while he quickly unlocks the front door and eases it open. "Hi," he greets warmly, feeling his mouth go dry with how attractive Kurt is.

"Hello," Kurt replies with considerably less enthusiasm. His eyes are slightly red, presumably from his earlier crying jag, and his face is lined with caution. Blaine tries not to let that bother him, even though he immediately finds himself wanting to put this stranger at ease.

"Come in," he beckons, taking a step backward and opening the front door a little wider.

Tank strains against the leash, sniffing the air curiously. Kurt looks back and forth between Blaine and Tank several times before he nods and carefully steps inside.

"I'm not sure if he remembers me," Kurt admits tentatively.

"I bet he does," Blaine encourages. "He seems to do best with smell, though."

"Smell? You mean I should let him sniff me?" Kurt asks with an appraising arch of his eyebrow.

"Maybe? Just try bending down to his level and holding out your hand, palm up," Blaine explains.

Kurt bites his lower lip but follows Blaine's instructions. He squats down and holds out his outstretched hand. Blaine releases a little slack on Tank's leash, allowing him to get closer to Kurt. He presses his wet nose into the palm of Kurt's hand and sniffs it experimentally. Blaine smiles as Tank's tail begins to wag.

"See, he does remember you," Blaine points out triumphantly.

"How can you tell?"

"Look at how much his tail is wagging," Blaine responds, gesturing.

"Oh," Kurt breathes, momentarily overcome. He reaches out a shaking hand and begins to pet the top of Tank's head. "Thank you," he adds once he's regained his composure.

"Anytime," Blaine tells him. "Here, why don't we go sit down? All his toys and stuff are in the living room."

Kurt manages a shaky nod as he climbs to his feet, following behind Blaine and Tank. "Wow, nice place," he comments as he walks through the foyer and into the living room with vaulted ceilings and a large, winding staircase. "Surely you don't have this house all to yourself?"

"No, it's my parent's house, though they are rarely home these days. I basically house sit for lack of a better word. I check the mail, make sure the packages get signed for and brought inside, call the gardener when the lawn needs maintenance, stuff like that. And in return, they pay my college tuition. Seemed like a small price to pay and it beats the dorms," Blaine shrugs modestly.

"No kidding," Kurt agrees. "Where do you go to school?"

"Ohio State. It's only about a twenty minute drive from here," Blaine explains. "What about you? Are you in college?"

"Yeah, I go to NYADA. It's a small performance arts school in New York City – you probably haven't heard of it," Kurt says.

"Are you kidding me? Of course I've heard of it. I thought about auditioning at one point, but my parents have never really supported me pursuing performing as a career. Doing show choir was my one act of rebellion in high school, so..." Blaine trails off.

"Wait, seriously? So did I. Which group did you perform with?" Kurt wonders.

"I'm a Warbler. I went to Dalton Academy."

"No way! I think we competed against you guys a few times. I went to McKinley. Our group was called the New Directions," Kurt mentions.

"Oh yeah, I definitely remember you guys. You were good," Blaine compliments.

"Finn was a New Direction too," Kurt says, suddenly serious. "He'd talked about going back to school to get his teaching certificate once he was done with the Army. He idolized our choir teacher, Mr. Schuester, so I think he wanted to follow in his footsteps..." Kurt trails off.

"I'm sorry," Blaine murmurs, swallowing hard. "I'm sure you must miss him."

"Like you wouldn't believe," Kurt agrees, his voice barely above a whisper. "It still doesn't quite feel real. I'm not sure if it ever will, honestly."

Blaine doesn't know what to say or do to make it right. He doubts that anyone can, really. So instead, he reaches out and tentatively pats Kurt's shoulder. It's weird how he feels a strange kinship with this person he's never met before. Maybe it's due to their shared connection via Tank or the fact that they've probably been in the same room multiple times for choir competitions, yet never actually met. Whatever the reason, Blaine feels like he understands Kurt and he desperately wants to help ease his pain however he can. "I can't even imagine," he replies honestly. He reaches for a handful of tissues from a box on the coffee table and passes them to Kurt.

Kurt takes them gratefully and wipes his eyes and nose. "Thanks," he says hoarsely.

"For what?" Blaine asks, confused.

"For not spouting platitudes or cliches at me. God, I've lost count of the number of times people have told me stupid things like 'He's in a better place,' or 'Jesus had a greater plan for your stepbrother,' or worst of all, 'His death reminded me that life's short so I went home and hugged my family tight last night.'"

"That's... _awful_ ," Blaine manages, momentarily speechless. "Did you punch those idiots in the face?"

Kurt chokes on a laugh. "Um no, but I was really tempted. I get that they probably meant well, but still, fuck them."

His comment shocks a laugh out of Blaine as well.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to curse in front of someone I barely know," Kurt apologizes, cheeks reddening. "Hopefully I didn't offend you."

"Don't worry, I can take it. But you did just curse in front of my four year old," he gently teases, looking meaningfully down at Tank "I'm trying to keep those words a secret until he's at least a little older."

"Hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure he's heard _all_ the curse words from Finn already," Kurt chuckles, wiping his eyes. "If Tank could talk, I'm sure he'd have quite the potty mouth."

"Duly noted," Blaine says, smiling softly at Kurt. "Do you want to pet him some more?"

"Sure."

Blaine grabs the camouflage blanket off the back of the couch and gently drapes it over Kurt's lap. "Tank, come here, boy," he calls out, patting the couch.

Tank immediately obeys, hopping up and crawling across Blaine's lap like he's done hundreds of time over the past month.

Kurt's holding the edge of the blanket, rubbing it between two fingers, obviously deep in thought.

"You okay?" Blaine tentatively checks.

"Yeah, it's just... this was Finn's favorite blanket," Kurt confesses, eyes welling up again.

"You should keep it then," Blaine offers immediately.

"But... are you sure? I assume Finn left it at the shelter with Tank for a reason."

"He did, but that purpose has been served already. It was helpful when I first adopted Tank, because I think it still smelled like home to him, you know? But Tank's used to being here now, so I don't think he needs it. I can always buy a new one for him to sleep with," Blaine insists.

"If you're sure," Kurt finally agrees. "Thanks."

Blaine holds Kurt's gaze for a long, charged moment, then nods. He reaches over and pats Kurt's lap as he calls out, "Come, Tank."

Kurt blushes as Blaine's touch grazes his thigh, drawing a shaky breath as Tank clambers over Blaine to rest his head on Kurt's legs. "Hi," he whispers to Tank as he pets his head.

"He really likes it when you scratch behind his ears," Blaine directs, showing Kurt the right spot.

Tank is obviously in heaven to be getting attention from both of them at the same time. Blaine looks down at him, startling slightly when his hand accidentally brushes against Kurt's. "Sorry," he murmurs as he starts to pull his hand away.

"Don't be," Kurt whispers as he grabs hold of Blaine's hand to keep it in place.

Blaine freezes, scarcely breathing as he stares down at their intertwined hands. Kurt smoothes his thumb across Blaine's knuckles for a moment, then squeezes his hand gratefully before finally releasing his grip.

"I knew this was going to be hard," Kurt admits. "Seeing Tank, I mean. I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it. I held onto your phone number for almost a week before I finally got the courage to call you. My greatest fear was that you'd say no when I asked to see him. That would have felt like losing Finn all over again, you know? But even after you said yes, I figured it would be awkward. I didn't know if I'd be able to hold myself together. Apparently I was right to worry about that," Kurt manages, wiping at his eyes with an embarrassed smile.

"Totally understandable," Blaine promises. "I don't mind one bit."

Kurt nods gratefully. "It's weird. It's easier to talk to you than to some of my friends I've know for years. We've never met, but somehow I feel like we have?"

Blaine swallows hard at the admission that Kurt feels the same kinship he does. "In another lifetime, perhaps..."

"Another lifetime... yeah, maybe? It's kind of crazy knowing that we could have met all those times at choir competitions but didn't," Kurt remarks.

"Well, I'm glad we finally did," Blaine says because it's the truth.

"Me too."

There's a minute of companionable silence while Kurt pets Tank. Blaine thinks carefully over his next move before he speaks up again. "So, when do you have to go back to NYADA?"

"January," Kurt replies. "I took an internship in Lima this semester so that I could be closer to home and be there for my dad and Carole, Finn's mom."

Blaine's thrilled at the revelation that Kurt will only be a couple of hours away for the next few months, since it increases the odds of seeing him again substantially. "What kind of internship are you doing, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Of course I don't mind. I think you've earned the right to pry after I cried all over you and your dog," Kurt giggles. "And I'm co-directing the New Directions with one of my friends from school, actually. Because obviously I didn't get enough of high school the first time around," he adds, rolling his eyes self-deprecatingly.

"That's really cool, though. I'm sure your family is glad to have you home for a little while," Blaine points out.

"I think so. It's been tough at times but healing, too," Kurt agrees.

"Well, you're welcome to come see Tank as often as you want while you're in Ohio," Blaine offers. "I know it's a bit of a drive for you, so if you ever want me to meet you halfway or even bring him to Lima occasionally, I'd be happy to do that."

"That's really sweet of you," Kurt murmurs, eyes shining. "But isn't it a little early in our relationship for you to be offering up shared custody of a dog?" he teases with a decidedly flirtatious lilt to his voice.

"I..." Blaine trails off, momentarily speechless. Kurt looks down at Tank and avoids Blaine's gaze, his cheeks blushing beet red. Somehow knowing Kurt's nervous too makes Blaine feel bold enough to reach out and take his hand again. "I've always moved pretty fast when it comes to relationships, so this is nothing new."

"Oh yeah?" Kurt asks, finally hazarding a glance at Blaine again. "Well, in that case, there's this great coffee shop in Lima. They have a bunch of tables outside so you could bring Tank and we could maybe get to know one another a little better over coffee?"

"Sounds great," Blaine replies immediately, stomach fluttering at the thought of what he thinks (hopes?) is probably a date with Kurt. "When were you thinking?"

"Depends – what time do you get out of class on Fridays?"

"Around 2 PM," Blaine answers.

"Perfect. So, why don't we say 4:30 on Friday at the Lima Bean?" Kurt suggests. "I can text you the address."

"I'd really like that," Blaine adds, squeezing Kurt's hand again.

"Excellent. It's a date." Kurt nods decisively.

Blaine grins at Kurt, inwardly cheering over the word 'date.' It's been far too long since he met someone he had such chemistry with and even longer since he was asked out on a proper date. "You don't have to leave just yet, right?" he checks.

Kurt glances down at this watch. "No, I've got a little longer. I probably need to get on the road in thirty minutes so that I can make it home in time for dinner."

"Awesome," Blaine says. "In that case, want to go play fetch in the backyard with me and Tank?"

"Absolutely, lead the way."

"Hey Tank," Blaine calls out. "Go get your balls so we can play outside, okay?" he prompts.

Tank immediately bounds down off the couch and goes sliding across the hardwood floor to the basket where Blaine keeps his extra toys.

"I swear he wasn't this smart when Finn had him," Kurt remarks. "Are you secretly a dog whisperer, Blaine?"

"Nope, this was all Finn. We practiced a little but he's clearly been well-trained," Blaine tells him.

"Wow, impressive," Kurt says, wide-eyed. Tank comes bounding back, his mouth stretched wide around several tennis balls.

Blaine leads Kurt to the back door, opening it wide to the fresh air. It's an absolutely gorgeous fall day outside, mild with a slight breeze that ruffles the rapidly changing leaves. He calls out to Tank once more, pointing to his feet as he commands him to "drop it."

Tank does as directed. To Blaine's great surprise, he drops not just one or two tennis balls from his mouth, but three. Blaine has no idea where he even stuffed the third ball (other than practically down his throat). His arms erupt in goosebumps that have nothing to do with the temperature outside as he remembers the last line of Finn's letter: _Who knows, maybe he'll even manage to get that third tennis ball in his mouth one day._

Blaine's never been one for superstition or organized religion, but it still feels like a sign. He wonders if Finn is looking down on them from somewhere, blessing his budding relationship with Kurt and silently cheering on Tank for finally accomplishing his lifelong goal. Wherever Finn is, whatever this all means, Blaine is absolutely certain of one thing: how lucky and grateful he is to have both Tank and now Kurt in his life.


End file.
